


Soul Train

by St_Salieri



Series: Dean/Buffy/Spike Threesome!verse [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Multi, Season/Series 06, Soulless Sam Winchester, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-27
Updated: 2010-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/St_Salieri/pseuds/St_Salieri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean enlists Buffy and Spike's help in dealing with Sam's missing soul.  Takes place after <i>Clap Your Hands If You Believe...</i>.  SPN/BtVS crossover.  A continuation of "Call and Response".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soul Train

In the end, the phone call had been easier to make than he'd thought.

"Hey, Buffy, it's Dean," he'd said, smiling a bit at the happy sound on the other end of the line. "So, here's the thing. My brother's gone and lost his soul, and I could kinda use your help."

And really, there was something to be said for having friends he could just _say_ that to without having to do a whole lot of explaining.

He'd seen Buffy and Spike every few months or so since what he internally called That Night in Cleveland. He and Sam had helped them out once with a demon in Sacramento, and in return Buffy and Spike had given them a hand with a nest of vampires in Atlanta that was too much for two hunters to deal with. More often than not, fighting was followed by freaky threesome sex that Dean was still pretending wasn't really happening. If Sam had ever suspected anything about the _other_ relationship he had with the vampire and Slayer, he'd never said anything, for which Dean was eternally grateful.

They'd been out of touch for about six months at this point - and out of _touch_ for even longer than that, ever since he'd been trying to make a real go of things with Lisa. Since he'd pretty much fucked things up royally on that front, he'd been too depressed to answer any of Buffy's texts.

Plus, the Sam wrangling pretty much took up his full-time effort these days. Babysitting a budding sociopath - especially one who didn't sleep - was damn exhausting.

The knock on the motel room door drew him out of his thoughts. Buffy's face lit up when he answered the door.

"Hey!" she said, giving him a quick hug.

"Come on in," Dean said automatically. Buffy had tried to explain to him the rules about when he had to invite Spike in to a place where he was staying, but Dean kept forgetting. It was easier to just invite in them every time. Spike was slouching in the doorway next to Buffy, and he and Dean exchanged manly nods as they entered.

"You guys really have a talent for picking out the grossest places to stay," Buffy said, looking around and wrinkling her nose. Dean looked slightly taken aback - because, okay, there was a mirror on the ceiling and one of the walls was paneled in black velvet that he was scared to touch because who knew how long it had been since it had been cleaned, but come on. It wasn't _that_ bad. The beds had Magic Fingers!

"Oooh," Spike said. "You have any quarters?" Good man. At least someone had taste.

Buffy rolled her eyes and tossed him a coin, and Spike collapsed happily onto one of the beds - Sam's, as it turned out, not that the guy was actually sleeping in it - and vibrated away, while Buffy perched herself across from Dean at the small table.

"Sam's in trouble?" she asked gently.

"Must be Friday," he joked. "He's back, which you already knew. Minus his soul, apparently."

He gave her the highlights, leaving out the bits about Crowley and how they were supposedly working for the guy now. The less said about that, the better. And besides, once they got Sam's soul back he could pretty much tell Crowley to kiss his ass.

Buffy listened him intently and asked a few questions, tossing Spike another quarter at one point without him having to ask.

"I have an idea," she said once Dean had finished, digging in her purse and extracting her phone. "I have a friend - she's the most powerful witch I know, and if anyone can put a soul back where it belongs, it's her."

"Witch?" Dean said, making a face.

"Trust me, she's the best," Buffy said briskly, picking a number out of her speed dial and walking over to the tiny kitchenette. "Hey, it's me," she said to whoever answered on the other end, and then Dean lost track of her end of the conversation because at that point Sam came in from wherever it was he'd gone skulking off to. Sam paused in the doorway, taking in the tableau, before narrowing his eyes at Spike.

"Spike, right?" he asked. "You're on my bed."

Spike gave him a shit-eating grin and didn't move an inch. "That so," he said, his voice shaking as the bed jiggled underneath him. "From what I hear, you're not using it much these days. Seems a shame to let it go to waste."

Robo-Sam gave one of his terrifying smiles, the one that was all teeth and plastic eyes. "Oh, it's being used," he said smoothly. "Just not for sleeping."

Spike raised his eyebrow and rolled fluidly off the bed, coming to stand in front of Sam, close enough that a normal person would have automatically backed away. Of course, Sam wasn't even remotely normal, and he stood his ground and stared down his nose at Spike without altering his expression. Damn, Dean hadn't realized how short Spike actually was.

"I hear you've lost your soul."

Sam shrugged, unconcerned. "Yeah."

"Pretty careless, to lose a thing like that."

"I guess it can't have been tied down that well," Sam said, and was Sam joking? No - Sam didn't know how to joke these days.

Spike stared at Sam with narrowed eyes, then grinned hugely and slapped Sam on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble back.

"I like him," Spike confided to Dean. "He's funny now."

"Great," Dean mumbled. _Glad one of us thinks so._

Buffy had finished her call by then and was approaching Sam carefully, as if worried he was a bomb that might go off.

"Hey, Sam," she said with a friendly smile, holding one hand out. "It's Buffy. You remember me?"

Sam stared blankly at her. "My soul's gone, not my brain." He turned to Dean. "I thought you said they could help me. Your friends aren't too smart."

Dean closed his eyes. "Shut up," he said through gritted teeth, and turned to Buffy. "Sorry about that. He's...well, you can see what he's like."

"Uh huh," Buffy said, giving Sam a once-over from head to foot with narrowed eyes. It was the _I'm checking to see if you're something I should kill_ look, not the _I'm totally checking you out_ look Dean preferred to see on her face. Which was probably for the best, because that look belonged to _him_ , not Sam.

Spike cleared his throat and took Sam by the arm, swinging him around toward the bed. "Best stay away from the lady right now, if you know what's good for you. Why don't you come sit over here and tell Uncle Spike where you last saw your soul?"

Buffy collapsed into one of the chairs and dropped the cell phone back into her purse, eying the back of Sam's head as he perched opposite Spike on one of the beds. "So that's what you've been dealing with? No wonder you haven't been returning my calls."

Dean winced. "Yeah, sorry about that. It's been...interesting."

"I bet," Buffy said dryly. "How's Lisa handling it?"

Dean's poker face was pretty much crap these days, which was why he had stopped playing poker. And talking to pretty little Slayers, for that matter.

Buffy's face fell. "Hey, I'm sorry," she said, taking his hand. "Come here."

She pulled him into a quick hug. Dean resisted for a moment - no need for Sam to see him acting like a wuss - but Buffy was soft and smelled good and it had been so long since he'd held someone girl-shaped that he couldn't help holding on longer than he'd meant to. When he looked up, Sam was studying him.

"Dude," he said. "I knew it. You totally slept with her."

"What?" Dean blustered. "You don't know what you're talking about." Not that he really cared if Sam knew, but...it was the principle of the matter. He carefully avoided looking at Spike, because if Sam knew _that_ part of things, Dean would never hear the end of it.

_Don't say anything don't say anything don't say anything._

His prayers went unanswered, per usual, because Spike could be the world's biggest asshole when he wanted to be.

"Honey," Spike purred, batting his eyes at Dean. "Where's _my_ hug?"

Dean glared at Spike, who gave him the bright grin of the totally-not-sorry.

Sam's eyes widened. "You've slept with both of them," he clarified, which was just totally unnecessary at that point given that everyone else was already on the same page, thank you very much. "Huh," he said after a moment's thought. "I kind of suspected that, actually." He turned and gave Dean his full attention, fixing him with a studied empathetic look that Dean knew was completely fake. "So, how long have you known you were bisexual?"

The floor could open up and swallow him at any time, Dean decided. "So, did you reach your friend?" he asked Buffy, desperately trying to change the subject. Sam was giving him a look like he wanted to pin him down and dissect him, and right now Dean wouldn't put it past him to be literal about it.

"Oh!" Buffy said. "Yeah, she said she'd be right over. She was just finishing something up."

Dean frowned, because unless Buffy's friend was finishing up whatever she was doing in rural Oklahoma there was no way she would be "right over".

"Where is she?"

"Tokyo," Buffy said with a shrug. "I think."

"Tokyo? How the hell...?"

And then a bright light filled the room, along with a loud popping sound. Dean blinked against the light, and when his eyes stopped watering a girl stood in front of him. She looked to be about Buffy's age, short and thin with flyaway red hair and big eyes. She looked around the room and winced.

"Oops," she said sheepishly. "I meant to land outside the door. Sorry about the temporary blindness."

"Will!" Buffy clambered out of her chair and went to give the new girl a hug. Dean studied her.

"You're the witch?" he asked. It came out sounding a lot more skeptical than he'd meant, but she wasn't putting out any kind of witchy vibes. On the other hand, she _had_ just materialized inside his motel room, so he had to give her style points.

Buffy put her arm around the other girl's waist and brought her over to Dean. "This is Willow, and she's the most powerful witch in the world." Willow rolled her eyes with a muttered _not really_ , and Buffy shushed her. "You are too. Willow, this is Dean."

"Hi Dean," Willow said automatically, holding out a hand. Then she froze and looked sideways at Buffy. "Dean? You mean Cleveland Dean?" And suddenly Dean was getting that _I want to dissect you_ look for the second time in about ten minutes.

"Great. Why don't you just take out an ad in the local paper? I think there are still a few people out there who don't know!" He was being too loud, and he knew it. Buffy was looking at him like he was a moron.

"She's my best friend," she said, which was apparently Girl Code for _I've given her your measurements and told her what your orgasm face looks like_. God, why did women have to talk about everything?

"Well, hey there," Dean said to Willow, trying to salvage the situation with his best flirtatious smile. He didn't know what exactly Buffy had been telling her, so it was probably best to lay it on a bit thick. Unfortunately, the look she gave him in return was singularly unimpressed.

"Yeah, save it for the straight girls, buddy," she said dryly.

Oh. _Oh._

"So you're...got it," Dean said smoothly. He looked back and forth between Willow and Buffy, cocking his eyebrow. "Does this mean you two...?"

"Ew!" they said in stereo.

"Hello?" Buffy said. "Best friend? Men," she confided to Willow with an eye roll. "They think the Playboy channel shows documentaries. And you," she said, rounding on Dean with a dangerous smile. "Your ass is very cute. I'd hate to have to kick it."

It was official. Women made no sense, but apparently his libido didn't care. The look Buffy was giving him reminded him of just how long it had been since he'd gotten laid. He cleared his throat and tried to focus on the business at hand.

"Did Buffy fill you in on our problem?" he asked Willow, who nodded.

"You need a soul restored. Not a problem. It's sort of my thing."

"Yeah," Spike said from the bed. "She specializes in tall, broody blokes with dark hair and cavemen foreheads, so this one should be right up her alley."

"Hi, Spike," Willow said. "Nice to see you too." She walked over to Sam, who stood up and regarded her with the same vague curiosity he had given his sandwich at lunch. "Whoa!" Willow said, craning her neck all the way back. "Hey there, big guy. I guess you're Sam."

She pushed Sam to sit back down on the bed and took his head between her hands, tilting it back to look in his eyes. Dean was reminded of the judge at the dog show he had caught on TV the other week. Willow hummed under her breath and inspected Sam's hands, turning them palm up and running her fingers over the lines there.

"It's apparently in hell, by the way," Spike interjected. "His soul, that is."

Willow frowned and dropped Sam's hands. "Huh. Yeah, that kinda complicates things. I can't promise anything," she told Dean apologetically. "But I'll do what I can."

"Thanks," he muttered. "Believe me, it's more than we've got right now."

"I just have to get a few supplies," Willow said briskly. "I should be back in a few minutes." She started to close her eyes.

"Hang on!" Spike said, scrambling off the bed. "There's something I need too. It's on your way...in a sense."

Willow folded her arms and glared at him. "Hello? Not your personal taxi service!"

"Oh, come on," Spike wheedled. "It won't take you but two seconds to pop in and out. And I think it can help matters with soulless boy there."

Willow eyed Spike for a minute, then shook her head in resignation. "Fine," she said, taking his hand. "What's one more favor."

"Wait," Buffy said to Spike. "What are you getting?"

He winked at her. "Show you when I get back, love." And then he and Willow were both gone, thankfully without the flash this time. Within fifteen minutes, both of them were back. Willow dumped a bag on the table and started pulling out rocks and feathers and some kind of smelly herbs.

"This is going to take a little while to prepare, and I'm going to need some peace and quiet to concentrate," she said, setting up a silver bowl and a pair of knives. She looked at Buffy. "I could use your help, if you don't mind."

"Not a problem," Buffy said. She took Spike's hand and gave it a squeeze, looking from him to Dean. "Would you guys mind taking off for a while? This spell stuff can be kind of delicate."

"Wait, spell?" Sam said "You're going to do a spell on me? This is some kind of New Age bullshit, isn't it?" Dean cleared his throat pointedly and looked from Sam to Willow. Sam frowned at him, then his expression cleared. "I mean, no offense," he said to Willow in the flattest tone possible. He looked to Dean as if for approval, and Dean just rolled his eyes at him.

"Yes," he said firmly. "You're going to let them do a spell. And if you don't behave, you're going to wind up in traction. Do we understand each other?"

Sam rose from the bed, looking about eighteen feet tall next to all the shorties in the room. Dean excepted, of course.

"I can take you," Sam said to Dean.

"Not even on your best day," Dean scoffed. "Besides, it isn't me you have to worry about."

Buffy reached up to tap Sam on the shoulder. When he turned around, she gave him a little wave and then quick as lightning grabbed his arm and threw him over her shoulder. He hit the ground with a satisfying thump, and before he could roll away she had his arms pinned.

"Hi!" she said brightly. "Remember how I can kick your ass?"

Sam struggled for a moment and then went limp, looking at Buffy with interest. He glanced over at Spike, then looked up at Dean.

"Hey," he said. "When you're done with them, do you think I can borrow them?"

"Borrow?" Buffy said in disgust, taking her hands away and standing up.

"What?" Dean yelped. "No! What is _wrong_ with you?"

Sam blinked up at...well, everyone, because the room had gone silent while everyone stared at him. He rose to his feet, looking vaguely perplexed.

"I don't understand what the problem is," he told Dean. "It's not like I asked to sleep with _you_."

It was a full minute before Dean could get anything out, because Sam logic was the logic of the insane. How did you even answer something like that?

"Dude!" he said finally. "No! Bad...bad Sam!"

Apparently, that was how you answered it. Sam just shrugged.

"Actually, you could say that it wouldn't really be incest," he mused. "I mean, I'm not _really_ your brother. And it doesn't feel wrong." Dean's mouth was hanging open at this point, and he wasn't sure if the garbled noises he was hearing in his brain were making their way to the outside world. God, he hoped not. "Of course, it doesn't feel _right_ either," Sam continued, entranced with his latest philosophical quandary. "But maybe that's because nothing feels wrong." He looked at Dean, all furrowed brow and floppy hair. "So how can you tell?"

Dean just gaped at him for a very long moment. "I just can't even deal with you right now," he finally said in a voice that sounded like it had been dragged out over broken glass. "It's wrong, okay? It's just...wrong." He turned to Willow almost desperately. "Whatever you can do, I'll be grateful."

Willow nodded, eying Sam thoughtfully. "You know, I've never really seen this with a human before. It's kind of...fascinating."

Dean groaned, and luckily Spike rescued him by slinging an arm around his neck and steering him toward the door.

"Come on," he said. "It's woman power time, which means it's time for us to be off. Why don't you show me where the beer lives?"

"God, yes," Dean said fervently, because he could definitely use a drink or ten at this point. Turning back, he pointed at Sam sternly.

"Play nice with the little girls, Pinocchio," he ordered, letting a smirk creep into his voice. "I'd hate to see you get hurt."

Grabbing his jacket, he headed with Spike for the bar and the land of the sane.

 

**********

"To the women we have loved and lost. May they live long in our memories...and never come back to trouble the present."

Dean gave Spike an amused sideways glance and drained his glass with a shrug. Spike tended to get a bit maudlin when he'd been drinking, but at the moment that suited Dean just fine. Anything to take his mind off what a royal fuck-up his life had become recently.

Well, maybe "recently" was stretching it.

"Anyone in particular?" he asked Spike, who seemed to be trying to consume the entire glass in one swallow. He succeeded admirably - testament to centuries of practice, apparently.

Spike let his lips curl up in a twisted smile. "I never told you about Dru, did I?" When Dean shook his head, Spike nodded. "That one was a piece of work, let me tell you. Craziest bird I ever met - and I mean that quite literally. She was amazing - the face of my destiny for countless years. She brought me into the night and gave me eternity. Then she cheated on me with a chaos demon and broke my heart. But then I fell in love with the Slayer, so...all's well, eh?"

Dean clinked his mug against Spike's and listened with half an ear while Spike rambled on about one time he had apparently chained Buffy up and used a cattle prod on her to prove he loved her. Dean figured more than half of it was a blatant lie, but he was never going to complain about his love life being dysfunctional again. Not to Spike, at any rate. It was depressing how easily the guy could beat his best stories.

The bar they were in was small and dingy, all dark corners and crushed peanut shells and stale beer smells. It was the epitome of banal Midwestern vice, and Spike stuck out like a sore thumb. Accent and leather aside, his hair practically glowed in the dim light, enough to get a couple of curious glances, and Dean was glad the place was mostly empty. Not that he and Spike couldn't handle themselves in a fight, but the sun hadn't quite set yet. Spike had left his blanket in the backseat of the Impala, and getting thrown out the bar would lead to a bit of a problem.

"So, tell me about her," Spike said, and Dean realized that he'd been staring across the room at the empty dart board for who knows how long.

"Who?" he asked, shaking himself awake and gesturing with his mug for another beer.

"The girl who's put that look on your face." Spike shrugged. "There are few people in this sorry dimension who understand the woes of womankind like I do, and I can tell that you're swimming in it. So come on, then. Tell Uncle Spike all your problems."

And he totally meant to blow Spike off with a comment about not turning into a chick last time he looked, but Dean found himself talking about Lisa and how things had ended between them.

"I scared the crap out of her, and I got her hurt," he said, studying the dregs of his glass. "This lifestyle's no place for a family. Better I stay away before I do something that can't be fixed at all."

Things were about to take a turn for the seriously depressing and emotional, which was why it was a good thing that Spike raised his arm and leaned in. Dean jerked back, afraid of getting caught in a hug or something equally mushy, but Spike just pounded him on the back and dragged him closer with an arm around his neck.

"You know what the answer is, right?" he said in a beer-scented whisper. Dean had lost track of his own drinks by that point, and he leaned against Spike's solid form and waited to hear his words of wisdom.

"You've just got to let her get a bit of her own back," Spike confided. "See, this is what you do. Show up with flowers or candy or some rot. Oh, she'll be angry, no doubt, but don't let that scare you. In fact, you _want_ her to take the first punch. The second too."

Dean felt his jaw drop open, but Spike just nodded sagely and tugged him closer.

"Take the fall," Spike continued, completely oblivious to Dean's expression. "It helps if you land on something fragile and breakable - more dramatic and all that. Now you can start getting back a bit of your own. Land a few punches, but don't overwhelm her. Once the blood is flowing and her neck gets that nice shiny blush to it..."

"Uh, should I leave you and your fantasies alone?" Dean interjected. Spike ignored him.

"...well, _that's_ when you want to go all out. Don't hold back. Let it hurt real good. Because I can tell you, the makeup sex that will follow is out of this _world_ , and that's the truth. By the end of it, she'll have forgotten what made her so mad in the first place. Mostly. If she hasn't, well, you can go all over again, yeah?"

Dean shook Spike off - who seemed to be caught in his own pleasant daydream - and glared at him. "Yeah, problem with that."

Spike refocused. "What are you talking about? It's a brilliant plan! Used it myself, more than once."

"Except that, one, Lisa's human. And two, she isn't a superhero. And three...she's human, you moron!"

Dean winced at how loud his voice had become in the suddenly quiet room. The bartender was giving him a fairly impressive eyebrow. Dean smiled weakly and made the universal gesture for more healing beer.

"Ah, right," Spike said, deflated. "I suppose that wouldn't work out, then." He paused a moment, then brightened visibly. "Or we could get you a Slayer of your own. _Not_ mine," he clarified, as if there was any doubt. "But we've got a shedload of them back in Jolly Old, and when you're ready maybe I could introduce you to one or two. The new ones are like puppies, but maybe some of the older ones? I have no doubt that Buffy would be all over matchmaking like a mucus on a Fyarl. When you're ready to move on, just say the word."

And suddenly Dean found himself bent double over the bar stool, staring at the dirty ground through watering eyes and laughing hard enough that he thought he might throw something up. He finally managed to right himself and punched Spike on the shoulder with the casual grace of the kinda-sober. Spike's waggling eyebrows set him off again, and it took him a few minutes to recover.

"Thanks," he finally croaked. "I think I'm good. But I'll let you know if I'm ever in the market for a supergirl of my own." Spike gave a _suit yourself_ shrug. "Besides," Dean continued, "I've got enough on my hands with Sam at the moment."

The thought sobered him up like nothing else could, and he wondered if Buffy and her friend were making any headway back in the motel room with the re-souling. He hadn't gotten a phone call yet, and he couldn't tell whether that was good news or not.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Spike leaned back and slapped at his jacket, digging his hands through the inside pockets until he withdrew a small leather-covered book - almost a pamphlet, really. "In case that they can't retrieve his soul, I took the liberty of getting this. It should help you out nicely." He laid the booklet down on the bar with a flourish.

Whatever _this_ was, it must have been what he'd gone with Willow to get. Dean squinted at the cover, and after a minute he could make out the title printed in an old-fashioned script.

_On the Care and Feeding of the Newly Risen Vampyre_

Dean blinked at it for a long moment, looking back and forth between the book and Spike. "Okay, I don't get it," he said finally, which was a sign of either too much beer or not enough. "No one here is a vampire. Except you."

"Well, that much is obvious," Spike scoffed. "And no offense, but you couldn't carry it off."

"Hey, I was a vampire, and I carried it off just fine!" Dean protested. Spike squinted at him.

"You were?"

"Yeah, a few months ago."

"Funny, you don't look fangy right now."

"Well, I got better."

Spike blinked at him for a minute, then shrugged. "Fine, whatever. Forget the vampire bit. The point is, when vampires are turned they lose their souls. This book is all about dealing with the newly-soulless, and you'll be able to find all sorts of nifty tricks for handling that brother of yours. Skip the chapter about the blood-drinking if you like."

Dean picked up the book, suddenly interested, and studied the cover more carefully. He could just make out the author's name in thin gold script: _Angelus of the House of Aurelius_.

"Who's he?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "My sire. Well, sort of. He turned Dru, and Dru turned me. But he acted like my sire, mostly because Dru couldn't be bothered half the time. He seemed to think it was his infernal right to break me in. God, I hated him so much." He took a long drink of his beer, and Dean could swear that the look on his face was equal parts nostalgia and fondness.

"And you gave me his book?"

Spike shrugged. "Well, it worked, didn't it? Mostly. I'm man enough to admit that he was able to reign me in a bit in my wilder days - except when I made it a point to tweak his nose, which was often enough. But he used most of those methods on me, so I can vouch for them." Spike leaned in closer, and his eyes shone with a devilish glint. "He always had literary pretensions, the sorry bastard. The manuscript was a complete hack job from start to finish until I got hold of it, and even so I was only able to start on the editing process before he caught me and chained me to the ceiling for a week. His loss, too. Poncy bugger had to use a vanity press to get it out at all - a little outfit run by this family of Ano-Movic demons, and he had to pay a pretty penny at that. Even though he's all soulful and broody now, he's still vain enough to keep it in print. He keeps this one in his office safe. God, he's going to be so brassed off when he finds out what I did with it. I can't wait to tell him."

Dean had learned that when Spike got like this, nine times out of ten it was better just not to ask. Instead, he flipped through the book and studied the titles of the chapters.

" _Controlling the Appetites of the Newly Risen_... _Souls and Personality_... _Violence: How Much is Just Enough?_...whoa, what?" He flipped to one of the chapter near the back. " _Sexual Imprinting of Your Fledge_? The hell, dude?"

Spike nodded sagely. "Advanced material, but useful if done correctly. See what you want is to have..."

Dean almost threw the book at Spike, who bobbled it before tucking it back into his pocket. "What?"

Dean thunked his head against the sticky bar several times, then plaintively addressed the heavens.

"Did I do something horrible in another life?" he asked the ceiling. "I'm just curious as to why people seem to think I should be having sex with my own brother." He knew for a fact that the bartender would be staring at him again - his luck just ran that way - so he studied the ceiling as if it contained the secrets of the universe.

"Oh, right," Spike said with a nod. "Brother. Forgot about that bit." Dean glared at him. "What?" he said again. "Vampires don't exactly care about that sort of thing. Incestuous bastards, the lot of them. I once knew this brother and sister vampire who...hey, you okay?"

Dean closed his eyes and felt himself wobble on the chair. "Yeah," he said weakly. "And I'll feel even better if we change the subject."

"Right." Spike hauled him to his feet, and Dean was reminded again of how surprisingly strong the guy was. "I think it's time for a bit of pool. Twenty bucks a game?"

"Thank you," Dean said fervently, letting Spike steer him toward the tables.

"And if you're a good boy, I'll let you play with my stick later," Spike breathed in his ear, then cackled when Dean smacked him and went off ahead to rack the balls.

**********

By the time they made it back to the motel room, Dean was almost a hundred dollars poorer. Spike tucked the bills back into Dean's pocket and promised him he could work it out in trade. Dean considered punching him, but the alcohol and the late hour made him too lazy. God, he hadn't slept well in weeks.

The door creaked as he and Spike pushed their way back inside. Buffy and Willow were sitting one of the beds, playing what looked like a modified version of poker with a pile of tarot cards and some candy. Sam...well, Sam was floating about two feet off the ground surrounded by a green glow. He raised his eyebrows and worked his mouth when he saw Dean, but seemed to be unable to make a sound. Dean sighed heavily and leaned back against the door.

"I'm almost afraid to ask."

"He was rude," Willow said primly, standing up and dusting herself off. "I didn't hurt him, I promise." She waved her hand at Sam. " _Te solvo._ "

The glow faded and Sam floated gently to the floor. He stood up and flexed his muscles, coughing to clear his throat and glaring at Willow, who regarded him evenly. Dean shrugged.

"I told you to play nice. Can't say I didn't warn you, dude."

Sam gave a final glare and stalked off toward the bathroom. Willow sighed.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "His soul is irretrievable. By me, anyway. I don't have that kind of power. I don't think anyone one Earth does." Dean was nodding before she had even finished speaking. He hadn't really expected it to be otherwise, and it was hard to work up any serious disappointment about it. "But I can tell that his soul is _there_. I mean, I can't get to it? But it still exists, on some realm. It hasn't, like, gone poof or anything. So that's good news?"

Dean tried for a smile. "Yeah, it's good. And thanks for trying."

Willow shrugged. "Hey, any friend of Buffy's." She hauled him in for a hug, and over her shoulder he saw Buffy smiling at them. "Let me know what happens, okay? And I'll do my best to see if I can find something I may have missed. Oh! And I almost forgot."

She handed Dean a folded envelope. He opened it up and looked blankly at the fine powder inside.

"A teaspoon in his drink, and he'll sleep like a baby for at least eight hours. He may be soulless, but he's still got human physiology, so it'll work on him. Just, you know, if you need a good night's sleep?"

And Dean wanted to hand it back and say that he would never _drug_ his own brother, thank you very much, except that...well, maybe it would be useful to hang on to in case of a Sam-related emergency. And Willow looked so hopeful. He didn't want to disappoint her.

"Thanks," he said again, and Willow smiled in relief and crossed the room to collect her equipment.

"I should probably get going," she said to Buffy. "But I'll see you in Washington next week, right?" Buffy nodded and hugged her friend, and Willow tightened her grip on satchel and looked up at Sam, who had just come back into the room.

"Be good," she warned, and then in blink she was gone.

Dean sighed heavily and sank down on his bed. "Well," he said. "That was...." He looked up at Sam. "You okay?" he asked softly, just to be sure.

Sam just rolled his eyes. "Thirsty," he said. "And hungry." He looked back and forth between Spike and Buffy before addressing Dean again. "I'm going out."

Dean just nodded as Sam got his coat. It wasn't like he could stop him, or that he even cared to. Sam paused at the motel room door and looked back over his shoulder.

"Besides, you probably want to have sex, so I guess I should clear out. It should take you about, what? Fifteen minutes?"

And then he was gone, before Dean could manage more than an aggrieved yelp in response. He stared at the closed door and wondered if he had imagined the amused gleam in Sam-bot's eyes.

"Well," said Spike, shouldering off his coat. "You heard the man. I hereby declare this a Trousers Off Room for the duration of the evening."

Dean looked over at Buffy in time to catch her rolling her eyes fondly, but she didn't argue when Spike toed off his shoes and climbed onto the other bed. Dean thought about pointing out that it was Sam's bed, then decided that he really didn't care.

"Not like he needs any excuse," Buffy said dryly, and indeed Spike had apparently used his supernatural speed for the force of good, because he was leaning back against the pillows with his arms crossed behind his head, semi-hard and naked as the day he was born. Dean swallowed and felt his palms start to sweat, and he was halfway through unbuttoning his own shirt before he even realized he was doing it.

"Sorry," Spike said to Buffy, although he kept his eyes fixed on Dean. "I didn't hear you. On account of your _trousers_ not being _off_. Didn't you get the memo?"

Dean had barely gotten his own pants pushed past his hips before he was grabbed and thrown on the bed. By the time he caught his breath, his pants had been stripped away and Spike was straddling his waist, which did interesting things to his own erection.

"Get with the program, Slayer," Spike said with a wriggle that made Dean moan out loud. He looked over to see that Buffy was leaning back in one of the chairs, disappointingly fully dressed.

"Nah," she said with a little gleam in her eye. "I will in a bit. But first, I'd like to watch. Entertain me, boys."

And with a smirk, she tossed a few quarters at the bed. They fell with a soft thump onto the mattress, and Spike grinned and fed one into the Magic Fingers without dismounting.

"That's my girl," he said in satisfaction as the vibrations started up, and Dean was forced to agree. He grinned over at Buffy and watched with hungry eyes as she caressed her own breast through her blouse.

"You heard the lady," he said to Spike, pulling him down for a rough kiss. And everyone knew that Dean was _always_ good at following orders.


End file.
